Hector screamed in anguish. Tears streamed down his face as he bit his lip, clenching his teeth as he struggled to quell his shaky breaths.

"Madam Arnhild! Hold him down, please!" the doctor shouted. He grit his teeth as the rubber of his gloved hands squeaked against Hector's skin.

"Just heal me, dammit!" Hector cried out.

Beads of sweat dripped down the doctor's neck. His breaths were labored behind his surgical mask as he spoke. "I can't! Your body isn't in a condition to repair itself. The remnants of anti-magic are nullifying everything I'm trying to do!"

"Try harder, then!" Arnhild barked, her face twisting with distress. It's difficult for any mother to witness their own child in misery, and now she had to hold him down to a bed by his shoulders to keep him from moving.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Hector," she said between her choked breathing. "This is all my fault," Arnhild told him, her pale hair cascading onto his face as she drooped her head. "I'm sorry, my child."

A needle flew into Hector's arm. The doctor pressed down on the syringe and let out a breath.

Hector's screams quickly quieted down, just before his head relaxed and shifted to the side of his pillow.

"What-"

"It's just anesthesia," the doctor informed her, his glasses already fogged and tinted behind his heavy breathing. "We need to wait for his body to stabilize; without Anti-Magic. That way, we can heal him. He's gonna be okay."

Arnhild spat out a breath, just as another tear traced down the side of her cheek. "Thank you," she mumbled. Now that she could steady herself and calm her breaths, she finally focused on the torment he bore. His arm shattered in completely different places.

"Dear gods..." she mumbled, with a soft gasp leaving her lips.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a pitch-black Connection burst open, just a few meters to her side.

The one who burst through was none other than her brother, the last of the Golden Dawn that remained on Vanaheim.

She rushed over to Arnold Norr, just as he spat out a sigh. Scattered droplets of blood dripped onto the marble floor, his eyes scanning over them. After all, he was back home. Back at the Eagles' Fortress on Asgard.

The room was showered in the pale lights from the ceiling. Other than that white radiance, he was surrounded by dull grey walls, built of bricks carved out of the subterranean stone. The only sound to be heard was the collective heavy breathing of Titans and soldiers as healers rushed to those in hospital beds.

Arnhild's stress was experienced by practically all those in beds, all those with injuries. And as the doctor said, Anti-Magic was only making it worse- the fact that the Crystal remained in the room was making it worse.

"Have you seen the state Hector is in?" she asked him, pointing at her son as she stormed towards him.

"I told you," Arnhild said, standing before him. "I told you not to take Hector with you! Now, look at him! I should've gone in his place! What type of monster was he battling that-"

She froze, her words cutting off as soon as she met Arnold. His face was battered and bloodied. His nose was crooked and leaking with crimson, his hair was torn, his teeth colored with blood. "Not a monster," he told her. "A demon."

Arnhild grabbed her brother by the arm and pulled him close to her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, dear sister," he said, only to wince as she grabbed his bleeding arm.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

Arnold's voice was low, tinged with straining pain. But of course, the pain he displayed wasn't real. Yes, he was bleeding. Yes, his arm had been cut into by a mediocre blade.

But in the end... Alexander Lane couldn't do much against the power of a High-Grade. Alexander Lane was left far worse. Arnold had to force down the smile that appeared when he thought of the Demon-Born's devastating condition.

The doctor rushed towards Arnold, only for the Titan to disregard him with a wave. He gently bowed his head and turned back to Hector.

Atlas appeared from nothing, not even a change in the wind. His sudden arrival didn't faze Arnold in the slightest, even as the Titan of Space patted him in the back.

"How are you holding up, Vice-Commander?" Atlas said, chuckling.

Arnold's lips spread with a smile. "I think that's the first time you've actually addressed me as that."

"Yeah, but I only did it ironically," the Titan of Space laughed. "So it doesn't count." He ran his fingers through his dense, black hair before turning to Arnhild.

"Have you evacuated all of our soldiers?" Arnhild asked him.

Atlas gave a steady nod, his smile still remaining. "Of course, Commander. We may have suffered deaths, but the majority of our troops are fine and well."

He paused as more screams of pain and anguish echoed throughout the room. "Okay... maybe 'some' is more accurate."

Arnhild spat out a sigh, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Well, I suppose it was necessary," she said, her voice dejected with her sigh.

"Of course," Arnold told her as they locked eyes. "All for a greater world. For our glorious purpose."

Remnants of magic energy still surrounded Arnold. But his bleeding was now stopping, his pain now subsiding.

"Atlas," he said, his eyes still fixated on his sister. "Where's the God Crystal?"

"Stored it for safekeeping."

"Okay, but where?"

Atlas smiled, raising a single finger to his lips. "You really think I'm going to say it out loud in a room filled with people?"

The Vice-Commander smiled back. "Fair enough."

Just a moment later, Arnold pressed his palm against his slashed-apart forearm. With the quick flow of energy, it began to heal itself.

Asgardian bodies are naturally capable of healing unlike any other Worldly species, quicker, more efficient. So efficient, his wound was disappearing within seconds of the application of his own magic.

Atlas stared at Arnhild's distressed face. His smile remained as a thin smirk. Arnhild was afraid. Her son and her brother appeared just minutes apart from each other, both injured, battered and bleeding.

"Y'know..." he said to her. "Everything that happened to good old Arnold over here... and your son was all the courtesy of Alexander Lane. The Virtue of Diligence, of course."

Arnhild furrowed her eyebrows as she gazed up at Atlas. "Who?"

Eve's grave voice interrupted. "A demon," she spoke.

The three of them turned to their fellow Titan.

Her head was buried in her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs. To address her commander, she slowly raised her head, locking eyes with her.

"Alexander Lane is the one who killed my sister. He used the White Light against me, just as I presume he did to Hector. The most dangerous of those Virtues. He will destroy everything we have worked for. Unless we kill him.

Arnhild swallowed her dry saliva and rushed towards Eve. The loss of her sister had overtaken her. But Arnhild had to ask.

"Just what is he?"

"He... is a devil. A being of darkness, with the only light coming from his eyes. Like a single pair of stars in a blank night. That darkness can consume you."

Arnhild understood. A being of destruction, that only appears once a century. A prank of fate to interfere with their plans. Right now, when faced with the grief and pain of those she cared about... Arnhild only wished she had killed the boy in the cave when she had to chance.

Arnold was amused by that. His entire battle against Alexander, even as the Demon-Born was enraged, fighting to kill... was fun. Arnold didn't put too much effort in, simply fighting to assess what Alexander was capable of.

Eve was exaggerating, even unbeknownst to herself. He wasn't a special being, he wasn't darkness nor destruction personified. Alexander may be a Demon-Born, but a human nonetheless.

Either way, it wouldn't hurt to have other Titans fear him.

Atlas once again put his hand on Arnold's shoulder.

"I almost forgot," he said, flashing a smile. "You're going to want to meet this guy. Come with me."

Arnold furrowed his eyebrows. "Huh?"

"Kafka Wolfram. A frightening talent who'll be a useful asset to us. You're gonna love him."

Arnold groaned. "Atlas, I told you about newcomers. You can't-"

"You're gonna love him," he repeated. "C'mon."

Atlas led Arnold away, but even as the two Titans left, Arnhild still remained with Eve.

Arnhild crouched down to her comrade. She knew all too well the feeling the Titan of Life was experiencing. The loss of family never brings much to a person's heart. Only misery and the aching urge for vengeance.

"I promised Lilith," she mumbled, once again burying her head into her legs. "I promised her I would keep her safe. I would protect her for as long as I lived."

Arnhild gently placed her hand onto her shoulder.

"I promised her that when we were just children!" Eve shouted out, lifting her tear-stained face to meet Arnhild. "And now... that's only a broken promise. A promise I broke. A promise the demon broke."

Eve furrowed her eyebrows. "That demon took my sister away from me. I'm going to kill him, Arnhild."

"I know you will," Arnhild told her friend. "You have my full support."

"I'll kill him," she mumbled, her eyes fixing themselves onto the stone floor as her tears dripped down. "That's a promise I won't let him interfere with."

It was at the same time that Arnold spat out a heavy sigh. That sigh came with the sorry sight that was Kafka Wolfram.

The sight of the uniform cloak they had given him being used as a blanket, the sight of his skeletal frame peering and shivering even through the white cloth, the sight of his amber eyes trembling as he gazed upon the two titans.

"So... This is him," Arnold muttered.

"Yep," Atlas said, smiling as he met Kafka with his obsidian eyes. "His brothers were pretty useless, though," he said as he turned to Arnold.

Arnold took a step forward, his boots clacking on the stone. Even though Kafka sat full of fear and confusion, Arnold already understood the magic that dwelled within him. It was a torrent, flaring with glimmers of-

He paused. Arnold couldn't think of a word to describe it. But he knew what he was seeing. That magic...was more than an energy of life. That magic was the soul. And the soul was him.

And at the same time, Kafka stared back before he swallowed his dry saliva. Each of these Titans... were far stronger than him. Each of their souls flashed with brilliant and unending colors.

Arnold's golden eyes glimmered as his lips finally cracked apart with a smile. "Kafka Wolfram... A human with magic unlike any other," he mumbled. "Well... It's a pleasure to meet you."

- - - - -

Alexander's heart ached. His beating chest burned in anguish and drowned in sorrow. That was all he could feel even before he opened his eyes.

"Morgana..." his hoarse voice mumbled. Morgana... What was her last name?

Right, he reminded himself. She didn't have one. She had nothing of her own.

"Morgana," he repeated with a dry and raspy voice.

"Don't speak," Lumiel told him, pressed her hand against his chest. "You're okay." She told him once more, "You're okay."

"Y'know," Leonard said, his voice muffled as he dropped his head into his hands. "...if I had a nickel for every time Alexander woke up in the hospital more than once on the same mission, I'd have two nickels. That's not a lot, but still weird."

"Now isn't the time for jokes, Leonard."

His voice was still muffled with his response. "I wasn’t trying to be funny, Liam."

Alexander turned to the side, to the sight of raven black hair. Anastasia Velda was once again sitting beside him.

She swallowed her dry saliva as soon as their eyes met.

As soon as their eyes met, his eyes welled up with tears. He spoke, "…Morgana's dead."

She nodded in silence.

Alexander forced himself out of the bed and onto his feet. His legs, his entire being was shaking and trembling, down the hands that gripped Anastasia’s hands so he wouldn’t fall.

"I-"

His throat clenched up.

Alexander continued to force himself, dashing into the corridor and slamming into the door on the side. As soon as he was in the bathroom, he slid and knelt alongside the toilet.

Vomit spilt from his mouth.

Every ounce of pain that raged in his body from the battle was awakened once again. His body forced itself alert, scanning every bit of itself to see if it was still alive. To see if the heart still pumped blood, to see if the lungs still drew breath.

His brain was overloaded as despair and anguish and hatred ran rampant in his heart. His senses were brimming with ferocity. He felt everything, down to the blood pumping in each of his veins, the air that filled his lungs, and the echoing of his heartbeat.

He wished he felt nothing.

Even with each passing second, the pain showed no signs of ceasing. His breaths were labored, his stomach clenched as its content were emptied in a matter of seconds.

And Anastasia was already behind him. "Alexander…" she said.

"You did what you could. Don't... Don't do this to yourself. Don’t give yourself that pain."

Right. Alexander did what he could.

'But...' he told himself.

"She died a painless death," Liam’s voice rang out, as each of the other Virtues rushed towards them.

That's right. Morgana died on impact. Even if she didn't, the mass of electricity would've burned every single nerve in her nervous system, and destroyed every single cell.

There was no way she suffered in that instant.

'But...' his thoughts repeated.

But nothing changed. That's what Alexander understood.

It didn't change the fact that Morgana was killed. It didn't change that she died afraid. Alone and afraid, just like she was for all of her life.

Morgana died holding onto Alexander's hand. Even as she drowned in fear, even as she faced death, she still held onto the single bit of hope she saw in Alexander.

He tried to force it down, but more fluid spewed from his gut and through his mouth.

"I'm sorry."

Those words left Alexander's lips without him even realizing it.

Anastasia stared at him. That was all she could do at that moment. She couldn’t get closer. She couldn’t hold him and reassure him. She only stared.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Morgana. Oh God, I'm so sorry."

Finally, his heart began to steady itself. His breaths began to stabilize. He no longer gagged or heaved. Alexander simply sat there, lying on his knees as he continued to suffer.

Once again, he spoke to her. "I promised you. I promised I would..."

Alexander didn't let himself continue. He promised to protect her, to keep her safe, to bring her to Midgard, to break her curse. He promised.

He wiped his mouth with the side of his sleeve, a white tunic, just like he wore the morning before. This only proved one thing.

They were once again in Patrick’s home. The house of the demi-gods.

Patrick appeared from behind and grabbed Alexander by the back of his shirt, pulling him up in the same movement.

"The rest of you children, get out."

The Virtues moved to leave, but Alexander remained still, his face still fixated on the porcelain before him.

"You are cursed, Demon-Born. Just as she was."

That was the last thing Alexander wanted to hear.

"Someday, you may meet an untimely fate. Just like her."

"Dude, shut up," Alexander muttered, finally turning to Patrick and his strange pale eyes.

"But even then… She died holding onto you, didn’t she? She was relying on you. And just like her, there will be more in the future that will rely on you. That’s what it means to be strong."

Alexander threw down Patrick’s hand and turned away. "If I was strong… she wouldn’t have died."

"You are a magician. A human. You cannot save everyone. You fight for the sake of others. But you mustn’t die for those ideals. I have already healed you and saved you from the grasp of death. You are alive. And so, you must live for those ideals."

"If that’s supposed to be motivational, you’re doing poorly right now."

Alexander forced himself to stand once again. "Thanks for healing me, Patrick."

That was all he had to say, before walking away.

The person who stood outside the doorway was Joanna. The black-haired descendant of gods.

"I’m sorry, Alexander."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "For what?"

"I’m sorry you had to go through something like that. The entire battle, the entire conflict isn’t something you children should have gone through."

As always, Alexander pushed away that pity with laughter. He forced a chuckle and said: "Well, it wasn’t that bad, either."

"But, hey, if you ever see Grisha again… Tell him to go to hell, will you?"

"Don’t worry, I will," she responded. Even then, Joanna’s face remained stale. She grabbed him by his wrist and raised his arm, pushing back his sleeve. Alexander's right arm was wrapped in bandages. Well, most of his body was.

"I know you’re still in pain. After all, the consecutive impacts on your arm fractured it. You injured yourself with your strength alone."

She continued. "You had a hole in your torso, Alexander Lane. You were bleeding in a dozen different parts of your body. You experienced the death of someone dear to you. Please… Don’t laugh. Don’t lie to me nor yourself."

Alexander spat out a sigh. But before he could say anything else, Joanna wrapped her arms around him.

That simple feeling, that simple warmth was enough to bring tears to Alexander’s eyes. And once again, he took part in an all too familiar exchange.

"I’m sorry."

"Thank you."

Just moments later, he walked back out and met with the other Virtues. All those except for the missing Gabriel.

And so…

"Where is he?" he asked.

Lumiel pointed out the window.

Alexander stared out, and what stood before him was a barren landscape. The ground had been cracked and destroyed, only being covered by a layer of dust and dirt.

The were right outside the walls of King Yulius’ castle. Right where this quest started.

"So Gabriel’s talking to the king?"

She nodded. "Gabriel and Hjálmarr are handling it. Because... He guessed you wouldn't want to cover stuff like that. Considering-"

Alexander dismissed her words with a wave. "So we’re going back home, then?"

"As soon as they get out, we’re heading for the World Tree."

"Good." Leonard sighed. "These have been the worst couple days of my life. Our worst mission, too."

Liam’s head was drooping over. "It’s not like we fail a bunch of missions, anyway. I honestly expect Archibald to be angry at us when we get back."

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angry," Giovanna noted.

Alexander didn’t join the conversation and simply waited in silence. Once again, his thoughts were lost.

'If only I didn't agree to this,' he thought to himself, as he stared at his hands. 'If only I hadn't killed that first demon…If only I'd just stayed home. If only…'

His hands had been cleaned and washed over and over again. But they were still stained with blood. Alexander was still stained.